


Parasomnia

by livveydiv



Category: Killing Morph, Satsuriku Morph, 殺戮モルフ
Genre: Blood, Enemies to Enemies, F/M, Hair touching, Intimacy, Kinda, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Obsession, Stalking, im so touch starved someone pet my hair :(, m definitely stinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26743150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livveydiv/pseuds/livveydiv
Summary: Madoka hasn't slept well for weeks, and this doesn't help.
Relationships: M/Madoka, M/Madoka Murasaki
Kudos: 8





	Parasomnia

Madoka’s eyelids snap open. Something feels wrong. Something’s felt wrong since the Ikebukuro incident, really, but she’s been even more on edge after confronting M at his home base. Apparently, being told by a serial killer that you’re both the same doesn’t do wonders for peace of mind. This time, though, the sudden wakefulness feels different; like her subconscious sensed something she didn’t.

Something is wrong. 

Staying perfectly still, trying to slow her breathing so it looks like she’s still asleep, Madoka’s eyes dart around the room. She can’t see much from her position facedown on the bed, but ... a slow movement in her periphery- her vision is dominated by a swath of dirty green fabric. 

Her blood runs cold, and she quickly closes her eyes again. He’s never shown up when she was asleep before, as far as she knew. They had some sort of understanding- an assurance of a fair fight. From the beginning, she knew that he could just appear in front of her while she was asleep or washing her face or walking home alone and end it once and for all- but he didn’t. Maybe going on the offence finally proved she wasn’t worth being allowed to live, for whatever reason she had been kept alive for this long. She was definitely more trouble than M’s average victim.

Should she jump up and tackle him? No, he could snap her like a twig. Anyway, he’s close enough already that her head would be off before she left the bed. Maybe throw the blanket over his head and run? But then again, it would be nothing for M to slice through the flimsy fabric  _ and _ Madoka in one smooth swing of the knife. Realistically, the only way this ends is with her eternal reward. She’s trapped. She’s trapped and she’s gonna die and there’s nothing she can do but lie there and play dead.

Putrid breath washes over Madoka’s face. God, he  _ stinks. _ M smells like a sickening cocktail of blood, BO, and rot. It takes her everything she has not to gag. Is he not allowed to bathe at the police station? Does he refuse to? Maybe the cops are scared to just hose him down. Maybe the stench is part of his war on humanity. It’s offensive enough to drop a couple people, that’s for sure.

Madoka huffs a little chuckle at the thought- if she’s going to die anyway, might as well have a laugh at her killer’s expense, right? He definitely hasn’t done anything to earn respect. And if she’s gonna laugh, she might as well die sitting up; at least her corpse’s nightie won’t be rumpled. Just as she starts stirring, though, there’s a shuffling of fabric and Madoka feels a weight on her head, keeping her down.

Is he… petting her? It feels like he’s petting her. That can’t be right, right?

But it is. M cards his way through Madoka’s hair over and over, the strands painfully catching on his rough fingers every time. She freezes again, abandoning any attempt to move. This is weird. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Madoka represses the urge to flinch every time he rips through a tangle in her short hair; obviously, being a serial killer didn’t make him gentle…

Her mind races as she lays prone, trying to ignore the persistent tugging on her hair. What should she do? Maybe if she just stays still he’ll go away? But why touch her hair? She hopes he’s not just slicking it up with blood to freak her out or anything- she wouldn’t put it past him. But there’s no coppery smell, no dampness when M slides his fingers through her bangs and lets them flutter back down. Nothing but the needle sharp pain of pulled hair and M’s putrid stench. 

Another shuffle. Something cold against her cheek. Maybe now he’s gonna do what he does best. Playing with her hair was just one last scare tactic. He’s good at that psychological stuff, messing with your mind, making you doubt reality... There’s no way this is actually happening, right?

But Madoka feels a clump of her hair being held taught and released as the knife resting on her skin glides to slice through it. A chunk of her bob falls back in place, much shorter than before. She feels a gag coming again. Really? Taking some of her hair? What’s next, a panty raid? Madoka suppresses another giggle. He’s probably just doing it to freak her out. There’s nothing he could really want with some loose hair… right?

Madoka dares to open her eyes a crack when the knife leaves her cheek. M is looking away from her to put the hair in a baggie and pocket it in his nasty boiler suit. Ugh, maybe he  _ is _ planning something. Gross. 

He’s kneeling on the floor next to her bed, stomach level with the mattress. The early morning sunlight streams through a crack in Madoka’s closed curtains, lighting M just right so she can pretend not to notice the fresh-looking stains on his clothes. He looks up, and she closes her eyes.

M’s hand is on her head again, but this time he traces a finger around her face. Sweeping her jawline, poking her cheeks, and finally drawing down the bridge of her nose- to the deep cut he left the last time they met in person. He presses down, and his dirty finger makes the still-unhealed wound burn. The sudden pain shocks Madoka’s eyes wide open, meeting M’s punchably self-satisfied gaze. 

They stay like that for a moment, neither moving a muscle. Terrified amber eyes staring into smug bloodshot ones. He doesn’t have eyelashes- burned off when he scarred his face, probably. It makes him look even less human. M’s finger is still digging into Madoka’s cut, and the irritation is becoming unbearable; should she do something? Her heart is going to beat out of her throat if this continues- what is he going to do? What is he planning? 

M suddenly rips the scab off of the cut and Madoka startles upright with a gasp, slapping her hands over her face to try and stem the gush of blood. He laughs in that raggedy, reedy voice of his, and she wants nothing more than to slap him with her now-bloody hand. Asshole! He’s an  _ asshole _ ! Sure, he killed people, he killed her  _ friends _ , but this is different! He comes into her home, interrupts her sleep, scares the piss out of her for no goddamn reason...

Before she can think, Madoka’s grabbing M’s wrist and jerking him in closer. This mother _ fucker _ thinks he’s gonna walk all over her, ruin her life, ruin her mental health, and just leave with a clump of her hair? He’s got another thing coming if he doesn’t think she’s going to at least try and do something about it!

Madoka tumbles off the bed as she headbutts thin air. He’s gone. In her sudden rush of anger, she had forgotten about bilocation. He wasn’t really here. He was never really here. But he’s everywhere, always ready to strike at a moment’s notice- it’ll never stop until he’s dead. 

She sits on the floor next to her bed for what feels like hours, just staring into space. She wants to cry, to scream, to break something- but she’s too tired to feel anything but irritation.  _ Asshole _ . Madoka gets up and heads to the bathroom to wash her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first real piece of creative writing since highschool!! Dedicated to J for proofreading <3


End file.
